Who killed the pork chops?: on authenticity and consumer goods

Our conversation on Tuesday touched off a chain reaction in my mind, connecting separate thoughts I had been mulling over for some time on the topic of authenticity, drinking behaviors, and the modern consumer. This is my attempt to share the precipitate.

Recently, consumer products - and beverages, in particular - have been grappling with this concept of "authenticity". In a post-modern society, overwhelmed by choice, it's a competitive differentiator. We often pick what feels real and authentic. And from a marketing perspective, it's super sticky. It's non-reproducible, and thus a sustainable advantage. We see this in the rise of craft brewing, farm-to-table, single estate coffee beans, small batch bourbon, and in our conversation on wine, typicity. This isn't a unique or novel observation.

But what I think may be novel is thinking through why we, as consumers, now crave this. Our grandparents thought mass produced Budweiser was a triumph. And it is - the kind of technology, industry knowledge, and experience that is needed to make a standardized good at such large scale is a human achievement. Budweiser tastes the same wherever you are in the world at any time. Pooh pooh McDonald's, Ford, or Budweiser, but they provided a trusted quality and standard following a period of time where consumers had little trust in food and consumer goods producers (the world Upton Sinclair described in The Jungle wasn't too long ago).

But through this process, the producer has been abstracted from the product. Who cares who grows the tomato - all I used to care about was that Heinz tasted the same in Paris, France or Paris, Ohio. And that was a marvel, for a period of time. Recent generations, however, have started to feel uneasy. "Who did grow my tomato?", we ask ourselves. And how comfortable am I putting that in my body?

Enter what we call authenticity. It's really just bringing us back to before the post-industrial age by making it clear who made what. And this is especially important with consumer packaged goods. We, as humans, perceive eating and drinking as acts of communion - and I'm not just talking about religious rites. Think about the symbolism behind being invited to a small group dinner. Or what it means to eat someone else's cooking. Or what getting a drink can be. Sharing a common consumable is an expression of trust: I trust what you're serving me or I trust to welcome you into my home or I trust I can get drunk with you.

But this sort of authenticity isn't scalable - or is it? Consider Maker's Mark. Early in the brand's life (1958), when it was just another Kentucky bourbon, the matriarch of the family suggested hand-dipping each bottle - giving it a unique touch. This brand device still exists today. And even though it's mechanized, it signals time investment. Certainly it would be easier and cheaper not to dip the bottle, and at least ideally, the wax doesn't directly impact the taste ("I'll have a whisky ginger, hold the wax, please"). But it does affect our experience of the good. It feels special. It feels human. It feels safe.

Brands that tell stories do the same. Hearing about the history of Courtney Kingston's family makes me love her wines more. I feel connected to her and trust what she's serving is good ("wine that's made with stained hands" is a quote I keep revisiting from her video). Visiting France makes me understand what it means to be a French wine. Having a farm attached to a restaurant (cf. Blue Hills in NY) makes me feel comfortable that the pork chops don't have trichinosis. The list goes on.

But these are expensive strategies to build trust. As are being "from a place" or "made by Grgich Hills" or an old school Barolo or a 95 by Robert Parker. These are all signals. But are there cheaper and more scalable ways to achieve the same goals? Could a mass-produced wine pull a Maker's Mark and find a scalable way to signal quality and trust?